


the beach (swim with me)

by CapConspicuous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 13:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapConspicuous/pseuds/CapConspicuous
Summary: Things really start to blur around there, Lance's thoughts begin swirling like water down a drain and he can't help but think about the beach he crashed on. Not often they find a planet with an ocean so similar to Earth's, really, where the water is terraformed enough so it's safe to submerge in.  Lance hazily recalls Allura mentioning specifically the water's resemblance to Earth's many seas, in salinity levels and pH, and general chemical composition."Let's go down to the beach," Lance can hear himself slur slightly, "Later."





	the beach (swim with me)

**Author's Note:**

> 100% powered by The Beach by The Neighborhood. Listened nonstop while power-writing this fic.  
> Klance with a side of Christmas-worthy pining. 
> 
> No seriously. This can probably be used as one of those dinky pine tree air fresheners. 
> 
>  
> 
> (For Sara/Letta/Rylee/Dev if she reads this/Natalie whom I owe fic collab with/literally everyone)  
> (comments and kudos fuel me <3)

"Ah, fuck this-" Lance's voice is hoarse from yelling into the comms, and feels strangely disconnected in the brightness of the castle, like the way the dark streaks and scratches stand stark against the white of his paladin armor.

Keith mutters something, maybe along the same lines, as he struggles to get out of his suit; Shiro doesn't even have the breath to try to lift their spirits- or even agree. Hunk collapses into a bench, silent as well, and Pidge removes their helmet, glasses askew and still bent from a couple days ago.  Allura and Coran are headed down to the loading deck from the command room, but Lance pulls off his worse-for-wear helmet without a second thought so he can't hear their voices in his pounding head.

What was the last straw for this battle? Probably the giant laser. Or maybe the lava missiles. Honestly, Lance drew the line at having to actually get out of Blue, who had been temporarily rendered powerless, to fire using his bayard, which didn't actually help at all, of course, what had he been _thinking-_

Luckily, Blue had regained consciousness just before actually crashing to the foreign planet's ground- but her jerking up had caused Lance to tumble from her mouth and definitely gave him the opportunity to become very familiar with the gritty, sandy surface, very, _very_ quickly.

So quickly, in fact, that he's got gravel in his suit which means- yeah.

Lance hisses out a long breath as he takes a slow seat next to Hunk, "Shit."

There is no minding the potty mouth anymore- he's too tired and the deep aching of his crash-landing still resides. There's burning in certain places too, his elbows, knees mostly, but also his back. The outer shell of the armor is easy enough to get off if you don't count the burning of what Lance guesses are some pretty severe scrapes- and yeah, judging from the rips in his suit...

After Lance had found himself rudely acquainted to the ground, everyone else had landed, to check at first if he was okay, which he had been _fine_ , but then Allura had come to the conclusion that the planet was relatively safe to take reprieve on, after barely fending off a giant... volcano monster or something.

"A Vulcyrian, from the planet Vulcyr," Hunk interjects kindly, because apparently Lance's thoughts aren't private anymore.

At that, Hunk sighs, because apparently Hunk is also a mind-reader now. "Your thoughts are still private as long as you keep them in your head, you dingus. I'm not a mind-reader, you haven't stopped muttering aloud since we got in here."

"Dingus," snickers Pidge, collapsing on the spot on Lance's left, which unfortunately jostles Lance's elbow so he sucks in another breath.

Trying (and failing) to peel off the suit is a pain at this point, and the multiple tatters where Lance hurts most can certainly be an explanation for that, but there isn't an excess amount of blood so he'll be fine. "I'm pretty sure dingus is another word for dick."

"Really? I thought it meant doofus?"

"Nope, pretty sure it means dick."

"I could swear..." Eyebrows creasing, Hunk thinks about it for a second before shrugging, "Well. Doesn't matter because both work."

"Ha!" That's a sharp laugh from Pidge, punctuated with one of their boots flying off and almost braining Coran as he strides _fantabulously_ into the room- and then the ensuing commotion recedes in the wake of Lance's head buzzing even harder, one of his eardrums losing the sound and only giving a high pitched whine.

Lances shakes his head in an attempt clear the sound but that only makes him scrunch up his eyes as his brain gives a disapproving pang. Nope, that wasn't the best idea. Which idea? Oh, right- _None of them._

"Here, let me," the voice almost sounds soft, but it's really just because Lance's fall definitely fucked up one side of his head or something. He turns slightly, _ouch_ , to see Keith already changed in his regular clothes, looking impeccable because _he_ wasn't stupid enough to jump out of his lion and plummet onto a hard, unforgiving floor. It sounds like resentment, except Lance also knows Keith _was_ stupid enough to follow him all the way down and jump out of his lion to check on Lance. Also without first checking if the Valcyrian had been properly dealt with or not. "Let go of my wrist please?"

It's a dry request, with a dry half-smirk, because Lance had instinctively blocked Keith's reaching hand and just. Held it there. Damn, Lance hit the ground harder than he must have thought.

Cool fingers take the edge of the suit where the zipper ends and gingerly tug it off Lance's left shoulder, the tight material surrendering under Keith's sturdier grip, until the fabric starts to cling to Lance's elbow area and he makes a face of discomfort.

"Ouch," Keith sucks in a sympathetic breath at the tearing of the black suit, and the material sticking its best to Lance's torn skin, The abrasion was studded with gravel and trickling an impressive amount of blood for a surface wound. "That's a pretty bad surface wound, if you ask me."

" _Wasn't_ ," says Lance impulsively, through gritted teeth, as Keith starts with his other arm, "Asking, I mean."

Keith hums in a way that says he's not even thrown by Lance's pissy attitude, probably because Lance is a lot banged up at the edges, so a little pissy attitude is tolerable.

His right elbow is just as fucked, but the real MVP is definitely Lance's back. The gravel had gotten into his suit through the holes and rips and dug into his skin as he skidded on the ground.

_Whoop-dee-fucking-do._

"How is it, doc?" Lance twists to gauge Keith's reaction behind him, because he can't see his own back, but can guess by how much it hurts that it's probably not a "Miss Universe" kind of pretty sight. "Am I gonna live to defend another day?"

"Well yeah," Keith's lips thin to a line though, "But you're probably going to have fun in the healing pod though. Like a couple hours of fun."

"That bad, huh?"

"Uh, it kinda looks like the ground tried to eat you, but barfed you back out."

"Ah, Keith, don't sugarcoat it _too_ much, alright? Don't spare my feelings at all, man." When in doubt, go with the comedy route, that's Lance's specialty. Class clown extraordinaire, with a PHD in sarcasm, which comes in handy especially when Keith peels the last of the black suit off Lance's new and improved back, the unsexy kind of way, because Lance is bleeding and has pieces of Mama Nature embedded in his flesh.

Lance finds it funny that _this_ is it. The thing. The "cute guy undresses you" thing. Except of course it will only ever happen for them because Lance did something idiotic again and got himself ripped a couple new ones and can't even undress himself. This is their reality, for the indefinite future.

It's fine.

"It's fine," Lance says when Keith motions at the remaining bottom half of his suit, "I think I can manage.  Thanks."

"No problem," shrugs Keith. He smiles though, the casual offhanded kind of smile, before his hand leaves Lance's shoulder, and then Lance is sitting there, blood beading from his knuckles still. With bated breath, he shucks off the rest of the suit, pulling it back from his legs without pause.  Yeah, his knees curse him for it, but Lance doesn't need to be gentle with himself, and neither does anyone else for that matter.

For a second, he sits there, suit pooled around his ankles, feeling the sting of air on his various cuts and scrapes and waits for the buzzing in his skull to subside.  

"Lance?"

He opens one eye, then the other, to see that everyone is pretty much looking at him, slouched on the bench in nothing but a pair of shorts, also, uh, bleeding.  "Oh, shit, sorry- yeah, blood's not sanitary, I know, I'll head over to the pod-"  Standing, Lance finds out that it’s not as easy as he remembers it, so he ends up swaying just a little.

Just a little. No one notices.

"Christ, he's swaying on his feet-" It's Shiro at Lance's side, steadying him, always the perfect gentleman- " _Aaaand_ , yeah, he's semi-delirious-"

"Oh no, he always runs his mouth of like that," Hunk says, as if everyone doesn't already know, thanks Hunk, my man.  "No problem, Lance, always glad to help."

"Lance?" Allura draws near too, "Are you alright?"

"Yep-"

"-Nope," Keith says at the same time. "I'm guessing mild concussion at best."

Shiro ducks to examine Lance's eyes briefly. "Good call, Keith. I think his right eye is dilated a bit more than it should be."  

"I've got him," with a swift movement that aches to follow, Lance's arm is tucked over Keith's shoulders, and Allura lets go of where she was measuring Lance's pulse. "Off to the pods we go, Lance."  

"His suit's completely wrecked," Pidge _tsks_ , hoisting the tattered fabric to inspect the numerous holes, "Alright, Hunk, we have a duty."

"Seems like we do this every other day now," Hunk sniffs, "I think I know Lance's suit better than I know mine."

"Ahh, ease off the salt, we can't blame Lance for his rampant streak of witless courage- Oh wait." If it weren't for the scraped up state of Lance's back (yeah, like the whole fuckin state of Texas), maybe he would feel Pidge's pointed side-eye.

But as it is, Lance grumbles while attempting not to lean all his weight on Keith, "I'm trying to roll my eyes but it's painful, so know that I tried."

"Have fun stuck in a glass tube, Lance!" calls Pidge.

"Feel better!" That's Hunk.

Lance would reply with a feeble thanks, but they're too far away and the ground feels like it's repeatedly being ripped out from under him. “You’d think my brave attempts to save us would merit some sort of gratitude.” Yeah, Lance is griping, just a little, but then again he’s not really in control of himself at the moment.

“Oh, you know we just worry about you,” Keith gives the arm he supports a brief pat, not even sounding the slightest out of breath for how he’s practically lugging Lance along.

The buzzing of Lance’s head only intensifies with him standing, like the minute change in altitude has elevated the frequency. "Gnhh, my head hurts like hell."

"Concussions'll do that to you." Why does Keith always sound so wry? Damn him and his nonchalant coolness. Damn him and his lithe body, so much stronger than one would stupidly assume, propping Lance up as he staggers like a drunk space cow.  "Come on, Lance, two more corridors, almost there-"

"Sorry," Lance's teeth are gritted again, every step sending pain stinging up and down his legs, burning most where the wounds stretched over his joints, plus the aching in the base of his skull, in theory where all the firing neurons lead up to.

"It's okay," Keith would shrug probably, but then Lance's shoulder would most likely dislocate, with his luck. It seems that just when the two of them have established a crooked rhythm, a mismatched three-legged race team making it to the finish line against all odds, they actually do reach the pods.

Things really start to blur around there, Lance's thoughts begin swirling like water down a drain and he can't help but think about the beach he crashed on. Not often they find a planet with an ocean so similar to Earth's, really, where the water is terraformed enough so it's safe to submerge in.  Lance hazily recalls Allura mentioning specifically the water's resemblance to Earth's many seas, in salinity levels and pH, and general chemical composition.

"Let's go down to the beach," Lance can hear himself slur slightly, "Later."

"I don't know, Lance," Keith heaves a breath as he tries to get Lance's haphazard limbs into the pod with Lance's remaining degree of a conscious cooperation, "Isn't it a bit risky?"

"It'll be fine... please? I just want to..." The strand of thought suddenly eludes Lance and he's somewhat aware of his brows creasing as he tries to remember. "I want..."

"Lift your leg a little?" There's a glove- a hand- on his calf then, guiding his leg into the pod with the rest of his body, "Okay, there."

"Let's just... see the ocean. We can go a little, the... two of us." There are weights tugging Lance's eyes shut, blinds closing, dark spots beginning to surface in his vision.  The pain makes him a careless, careless moron. "When I wake up." Lance fights the darkness, fights to see Keith's concern, swimming before his eyes. Fights to feel the remaining lingering of Keith's hand on his arm, and Keith's hand is burning warm compared to Lance now, not cool like it was before.

"Alright," Keith concedes, and his hand is still there but Lance almost wishes it wasn't, "It can't hurt."

"It already hurts," Lance whispers, the dark battling the glow of the Altean technology, starting to beat out the light.

There's that half-smile again. "You're going to be fine, okay? A few hours and you'll be perfectly fine again." There's a final reassuring pressure and then it's gone.

And Lance misses it more than anything.

The light fades alarmingly quickly without Keith's fingers to tether him. "Keith-"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go when I wake...up... You'll be here?"

"I'll be right here."

Lance hears the last part more than he sees it, and he misses seeing Keith's face, but then there's nothing but the hiss of the pod doing its work in a special shade of Altean blue, sealing him in and away from Keith's touch.

...

The best thing about the healing pods are the instantaneousness of them. The nothingness. The fact that one second, Lance can be hurting on 60% of his body's surface area and sporting a concussion to boot, to blinking his eyes open, feeling perfectly fine and dandy.

Nothing beats good ol' Altean technology/witchcraft.

The pod, sensing Lance's change in heart rate and thus detecting his return to the realm of consciousness, opens-fucking-sesame. No, that's not a thing, but now it is.

It takes more than a couple ticks for Lance's eyes to adjust from the brightness of the pod to the dark surroundings of the castle at night.

And when he does, he lets out a squeak that could put the castle mice to shame. " _Holy shit, Keith-!_ "  He takes a few heart-pounding moments to gather his wits- what's left of them- "Give a guy a warning next time, will ya?"

Keith shoots him a look in from the corner of the room where he'd evidently been sitting against for the last... God knows how long. "Lance, you literally asked me to be here when you got up. If you’d died, those would have been your last words."

"Yeah, maybe-" Lance allows, "But you don't have to be like..." There's a vague hand gesture at Keith's form, not having a moved an inch from the shadows.

"Like?"

"Like some cheesy vampire character," finishes Lance lamely. Yeah, he just hopped out of a crazy magic healing box, he's mentally not at the top of his game yet.

There's silence for a couple seconds, then Keith shifts to stand with a snicker, "Well, I see the concussion took its toll."

Keith can't see the look Lance shoots him, but that doesn't stop Lance from making a face.

"Anyways, let's go then," Keith tosses a bath towel at Lance's head, "It's not a beach towel, but beggars can't be choosers. Everyone's asleep I think."

They decide not to take their lions out, since it's unnecessary with the castle right by the beach, and anyways, Blue needs her rest. (Lance has long since stopped questioning the lions being alive in their own way.) Plus the giant robot lions don't seem to be the best route for staying inconspicuous.

"It's not _not_ allowed," Lance says, almost to himself as they make their way to the air lock. They're not, like, sneaking out or anything.  Keith only makes a noncommittal noise at that.  The quiet hiss of the lock invites the almost-familiar smell of salty coastal air, slightly humid and warmer than what Lance was used to on Earth.  

Lance hops off the last rungs on the side of the castle leading from the air lock to the ground, touching down on rough gravel. He gives it a slight kick for the rough landing earlier. "Take that."

"You sure showed it," Keith laughs, a quiet noise in the sudden great outside. It blends in well with the distant, inevitable breathing of the ocean.

The first other thing that Lance notices are the two moons, shining high in the sky- both glowing with the same ephemeral light. "Twin moons," he can't help but feel awed. The sky surrounding is lit with stars as well, none of the light pollution that Lance had been accustomed to at home- and it doesn't matter how many weeks, months, years they've been up in the space frontier, Lance doesn't ever get tired of the stars.

There isn't much more to say as they walk down to the beach, the gravel under Lance's feet gradually becoming finer- from pebbles to coarse, rough grains of sand, to granules softer than what Lance remembers. The sound of the ocean grows, never reaching entirely a roar, but a constant presence that's soft to Lance's ears. Dark waves lap at the shore instead of crashing onto it, liquid pulse in the night resembling flowing obsidian.

"It's gentle," Keith sounds pleasantly surprised. Lance breathes the damp air, giving time to respond. There's so much time and yet never enough.

"The ocean's not a monster, Keith."  Lance had already guessed that Keith wasn't very fond of large bodies of water, especially not the ocean. "But yes, this one is calmer, I think."

Keith tosses his towel down, maybe standing there uncertainly, but it's dark and Lance can't immediately discern his expression.

"So are you just gonna sit on that bath towel or are you coming with?" There's maybe a challenge there, in Lance's words, in his smile, in this darkness. There's nothing to betray anything else. The challenge is a good shield.

Keith shrugs then, no words to explain his hesitancy, not biting at the bait tonight, and Lance doesn't push it.  There's no need to swing the bait around, not in this moonlight. Not when the hook has more of a chance of snagging himself than anyone else.

So, Lance lets it go. "Maybe later then."  He drops his towel next to Keith's, watches the cotton-white hit the dark sands, and jogs down to where the saltwater kisses the shore. The water washes over his toes first, warmer too, like the air. Inviting- and in the night, indistinguishable in appearance from the beaches of Lance's childhood.

Then the water's up to his ankles- his newly unblemished knees- and Lance lets himself slide into the waves, the water buoying him up and taking him in at the same time, and Lance loves this simultaneous feeling of disappearing and emerging into something new.

The water is just as dark as it looks, murky maybe, and Lance's eyes burn only for a second when he opens them under the surface. His breath is forgotten in the muted environment, and he closes his eyes again.

It's both loud- everything at once, and nothing at all, underwater. And Lance trails his fingers in the layer of sandy silt below him, feeling the minute undulations of water rolling over him gently. It's an escape, almost.

And Lance doesn't feel too tempted to look back at where Keith is probably sitting. Watching him? Waiting for him to resurface?

It's not temptation that makes Lance pull up again and wipe the droplets from his eyes, no, just the tightness of his lungs, restricting him. Keith's figure isn't far, but again, Lance can't take away an expression. So he ducks down again.

Most people have the very rational fear of sea creatures, or even the touch of seaweed against their legs. Neither are pleasant for Lance, but they don't come to the forefront of his mind if he doesn't dwell on them. He lets the waves bear him where they will, pushes against them when he wants and feels the little currents created by his body propelling him through the water.

Lance likes the smallest hint of resistance, but likes giving to the whim of the ocean as well. He likes the quiet loudness and the leaving and returning.

Life began in the ocean, back on Earth, and to the ocean Lance returns.

At some point, Lance doesn't know how much time has passed exactly with his idle meandering. He feels looser though, more fluid, like the water he's surrounded himself with, and finds Keith's shape on the sand farther away than he thought.

He waves. Keith waves back.

It doesn't take long before Lance is back with his feet on the shifting sands again, salty water dripping from his hair, beading over his skin. In the double light of the moons, he sees the water sink into the sand, leaving dark patches in his footprints.

"Come on, Keith," wiping more water from dripping into his eyes, Lance beckons to where Keith sits, "I promise the ocean won't bite."

"What if it's not the ocean I'm worried about?" Keith tilts his head back to look at Lance standing over him.

"There aren't any sea creatures near to worry about, I promise." Lance finds it strange to feel his lungs tighter now than they ever were under the water's surface. "I'm still alive aren't I?"

Keith still looks over at the vast expanse behind Lance with a dubious glance. He looks back up at Lance. "There's just. So much of it."

"Then stay close." It's an easy shrug, like every other shrug that Lance has ever pulled in his life. And then he's hoisting Keith to his feet, hand sliding in Keith's. "You _do_ know how to swim, right?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Keith mutters, and maybe Lance would stab back with something but then Keith is shrugging off that fire-hydrant-red jacket of his and tugging off the shirt underneath with enviable ease. And Lance has to swallow and train his eyes on the suggestion of a horizon, where the choppy mirror of the water reflects the clusters of stars.  

He knows if he looks back, there will be nothing to see but alabaster skin and encapturing eyes and dammit. Lance wishes he could be free.

So he doesn't turn to look, but hears the slide of fabric hit the ground- and every member of Voltron has seen each other in varying degrees of nudity by happenstance and even the event of injury...

But this is so painfully different.

This is in moonlight, by the whispering waves. This is before benevolent stars and glass churning waters.

So Lance keeps his eyes ahead in the facade of searching for unknown constellations.

Except then Keith emerges from behind him and strides off in front and Lance gets a moonlight-glanced back, loose shoulders and slender arms-  and suddenly the sand is all Lance can look at, individual grains blurring and incomprehensible to the flashing sight he wishes he hadn't had.

Keith waits for Lance by the water's edge.

"I won't be able to see the bottom." It's not a small voice, but it's a small secret. Keith looks back at Lance as he approaches. "It freaks me out, not knowing if there's anything there." It's a rare glimmer of fear, the irrational kind makes people human, not the courageous fear in the face of death or Zarkon's wrath.

Lance takes the first step, ocean at his ankles, still transparent so he can see his toes disappearing into the sand. "We don't have to go deep. Just enough."

"What's enough?"

And then, Lance smiles again, feeling easier standing in the water, where he can be sure of some things. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

And then, Keith is wry again, and this is a familiar-good feeling. "You know, the whole point of bridges is to avoid the water."

"Too late."

Lance takes a few splashing steps so the water washes around his waist, the waves gently pushing against his back when he faces Keith, who makes his way where Lance is, albeit more slowly and cautiously. But the water is not picky of who it accepts and takes Keith in the way it would anyone else.

Keith loses a bit of tension when he reaches Lance's side, still close. "At least it's warm."

Lance gives a sound of agreement and wades further back, this time facing Keith the whole time so he follows, knowing Lance hasn't taken his eyes away, a tactic he'd used many times when teaching his little siblings to swim.  With Lance's eyes trained on Keith's, they get to the point where the water goes up to their chins but their feet still glance off the sand. The lapping of the gentle waves seem to Lance like they echo his heartbeat- which surges when a hand wraps around his wrist-

"-Sorry-" Keith gulps air as a wave washes just over his bottom lip, "Uh-"

"It's fine," and this is the most soothing Lance's voice has ever been for Keith, and in the water where neither of them can see into, Lance's fingers wrap around Keith's to steady him. "Want to duck your head under? I'll stay up for now if it makes you feel better."

Nodding, Keith takes a deep breath and ducks under the waves, submerging, strands midnight hair spreading out under the surface. There's only the silence of Lance's own breath for a good few seconds, Keith's hand gripping Lance's tight, before Keith bobs up again.

Keith lets go of Lance to push back the hair plastered to his face and the loss leaves the water feeling extra cold to Lance where Keith's hand had just been. But Keith is grinning, water making his skin shine brighter in the night, and that makes it slightly better. "That wasn't so bad."

"I told you," Lance answers, and for once, Keith doesn't protest.

It must be something in the water, Lance thinks, or the sound of its shallow rhythm, bearing them slowly farther from the beach. Soon, the feel of swirling sand beneath their feet is gone and they tread water silently, serene-slow and noiseless. It's something in the water or the light of the stars that keeps Lance's words from tripping their way out of his mouth.

And since no one can know you're a fool until you open your mouth, Lance keeps the words in and sinks lower beneath the surface.  The water is so dark, only the barest of glowing moonlight filtering through the surface, and the moonstone expanse of Keith's body, suspended in that dream-like quality of being underwater.

A trim, tapered waist running into slim-fitting shorts- and Lance lets the burst of air out of his chest as he comes back to the surface, blinking burning, water-soaked lashes. He can not and will not. "Let's swim out a little further."

So they do.

When they reach some point where Lance feels his need to go farther intersects with Keith's tether to land, they float.  Backs to the indiscernible deep, eyes to the night sky.

"Why do you like the ocean so much anyways?"

"I don't know, why do you like the color red?"  Lance could explain, he thinks, if he wanted to. If he were sure the sentences wouldn't dash themselves to pieces on rocky cliffs, or the phrases wouldn't crumble like clumsy castles in the sand.  How does he tell Keith that he feels at home in the ocean, surrounded, where he's connected to it all in some way or the other? That the soft motions of the water around him are soothing, like the rocking of a cradle, and the beating of the ocean is his own lullaby?

How does Lance tell Keith-

"You've made your point," Keith stretches his arms out over the water, further- and it's unfair that he looks so good in Lance's element. It's unfair that Lance finds that fascinating. "But you don't see me jumping into blazing fires at every chance I get. It's not like I'm fireproof.'

Lance can't help let his head fall to look at Keith's profile, the seawater washing intermittently over the lower portion of his face. He's half in, half out, but still his eyes drink Keith in clearly. There's a churning in his chest, maybe, like the water is seeping in and boiling hot. "Neither am I."

It means nothing, those words. It means nothing, except, it means everything. It means that, sometimes Lance feels like he's drowning. Like the whole ocean is coated slick with oil, dark and heavy and suffocating- and the sparks from Keith's words will fall-

And they will go up in flames.

The two of them, certainly, and everyone else too close, scorched, burnt, scarred.

Blistered, ravaged, twisted to a point from which they can never return.

It's that fear, too, that keeps Lance from moving closer. If the flames roar, Lance will be lost and the worst part is, he wouldn't even care. He sees the upturn of Keith's eyelashes as he observes the stars above, all burning on their own fuel, and Lance knows that this is why his love is a dangerous thing.

And, yeah, sometimes Lance is sick and tired of pretending and fighting it so hard but he _knows_.  He knows that if he lets the sparks reach him, he will never look back, blinded by the smoke and cinders and never stopping to think of the damned consequences again.

But then cool fingers reach for his wrist- Keith being the one to take his hand again- and he follows the point of Keith's finger into the distance. "Look at that."

Far, far from them, to the left and nearer to where the castle landed, is something like a small island- with trickles of dully glowing red.  Lance shifts into a vertical position again to get a better look.

"Oh, look, it's our friend, Leroy," Lance feigns fondness for the fallen Vulcyrian, immobilized and solidified in the midst of the planet's largest body of seawater. "Fuck you, Leroy!" Lance shouts at the misshapen form, nothing more than an island now.

Laughing, Keith draws close, at Lance's shoulder. "I don't think he heard you."

"Goddamnit, Leroy, you had _one_ job!"

Lance wonders who else gets to hear Keith laugh like this.

" _Leroy, you absolute fucker!_ "

And Keith laughs harder, fingers slipping on Lance's arm- and Lance loses himself again, just a little.  His own laughter bubbles over from the nonsensicalness of it all, that they should live another day like this: buoyed by waves and yelling into the darkness, at the same time chasing an incurable dream and fleeing an impossible evil.

Then Lance turns slightly to see Keith's face.  He just wants a glimpse of that laugh- but Keith's face is too close, droplets of water still clinging to his face and a laugh cut short. Lance doesn't know how many times his eyes tear themselves from Keith's lips to his eyes again-

-he's too close, hand too secure on Lance's arm-

-water clinging to strands of his hair-

-so  c l o s e  Lance can hear the slightest exhalation

-heartbeat beats so fast beating itself upon beats

-and Lance's own breath burns out in his trachea-

_what would it be like to kiss him what would it be like to feel his lips under mine what would it be like for him to take my breath like I want him to what would it be like to feel his fire burn me up to nothing until all I am is ash so he can breathe me in one last time-_

So Lance licks his salty lips without thinking and it all

comes

crashing

down

the reality like a tsunami and the sharp salt of his own lips _alone_. The taste of the sea on Lance's tongue brings him back and tethers him and suddenly he's propelling himself away in the water, away from the warmth and the promise of an inferno he won't have the strength to douse- and away from Keith's stricken bright eyes.

"So, uh, I sure showed him, huh?" The laugh is weak. Transparent.

Keith blinks hard, blatant confusion in his voice, and something else. " _What?_ "

"Leroy, of course. Totally gave him what he deserved. He won't be bothering us anymore." A well-worn smirk, like a curve weathered into the side of a rock face, a sharp edge of glass worn smooth.

For two moments, Keith says nothing, a droplet tracing its way down the curve of his cheek, eyes wide- then going flat. "Okay, Lance. Whatever."

"What's the matter-"

"It's nothing." The words are bitten out, knife blade-flat, flatter than the ocean could ever, never be-  "I think I've had enough waterworks for today."

"Keith-" And the best part is, Lance knows exactly why Keith's jaw clenches- but he feigns stupidity too well to let it go to waste, "-wait-"

"Goodnight, Lance."  

The words sink in and under, below the surface and embedding themselves in the ocean floor, as quietly as the silent slice of Keith's limbs through the water- perfect strokes carrying him away.

The ocean is not the real kind of comfort that Lance wishes it was, gentle touches and caresses of the waves aside. Instead, the water suddenly feels chilly as Lance's whole body flushes hot with something second cousin thrice removed to anger- and he watches Keith's figure grow smaller and smaller. He thinks he can see the beach where Keith emerges from the water, shoulders stiff once more.

Tomorrow, they will leave this planet, back into the stars again. Because, even in this cocoon of velvet darkness where the ocean reflects what the two moons shine, Lance can never let himself forget that.

Tomorrow will be a new day- or night, depending on what solar system they reach or what other planet they find refuge on- and tomorrow is a new fight.

There is no end in sight of this running for any of them, no certainty. Lance thinks about falling from Blue today, the ground rushing to meet him, his life almost coming to an end.  Yet another reckless moment and yet another reason why he can't lose sight of why he can't do this. He can’t do this to Keith.

No one else will get hurt, no one else will get scalded, if he can hold himself back.

Tomorrow, Lance will be able to look Keith in the eye again and pretend none of this happened. Either the brightness of the castle or the surge of battle will restore the sense of reality to everything, and Lance won't let himself slip again.

But for now, Lance thinks he can see the beach- thinks he can actually taste the acrid, tangible sting of Keith's disappointment in him.

And Lance is disappointed in himself too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Beach  
> The Neighborhood
> 
>  
> 
>   
> _If I told you that I loved you_  
>  _Tell me, what would you say?_  
>  _If I told you that I hated you_  
>  _Would you go away?_  
>  _Now I need your help with everything that I do_  
>  _I don't want to lie, I've been relying on you_  
>  _Fallin' again, I need a pick-me-up_  
>  _I've been callin' you friend, I might need to give it up_  
>  _I'm sick and I'm tired too_  
>  _I can admit, I am not fireproof_  
>  _I feel it burning me_  
>  _I feel it burning you_  
>  _I hope I don't murder me_  
>  _I hope I don't burden you_  
>  _If I do, I do_  
>  _If I meet you in the middle maybe we could agree_  
>  _You make me feel little how you're looking at me_  
>  _And you can throw me shade, all it does is just cool me off_  
>  _First it just threw me off, now I'm just moving on_  
>  _Fallin' again, I need a pick-me-up_  
>  _I've been callin' you friend, I might need to give it up_  
>  _I'm sick and I'm tired too_  
>  _I can admit, I am not fireproof_  
>  _I feel it burning me_  
>  _I feel it burning you_  
>  _I hope I don't murder me_  
>  _I hope I don't burden you_  
>  _Swim with me_  
>  _I think I could see the beach_  
>  _I know what's underneath_  
>  _I need you here with me_  
>  _But we're out in the open_  
>  _Swim with me_  
>  _I think I could see the beach_  
>  _Just don't look underneath us_  
>  _I need you here with me but we're out in the open_  
>  _I'm sick and I'm tired too_  
>  _I can admit, I am not fireproof_  
>  _I feel it burning me_  
>  _I feel it burning you_  
>  _I hope I don't murder me_  
>  _I hope I don't burden you_  
>  _If I do, I do_  
>  Twitter is @celestialchels_ (come say hi <3)


End file.
